


Where there's smoke

by smallvictories



Series: bcs/brba prompt fills [4]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Alcohol, Caretaking, Drunkenness, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallvictories/pseuds/smallvictories
Summary: Prompt:"I'm not sure I know who I'm supposed to be anymore."Mike takes care of grieving, drunk Jimmy.
Relationships: Mike Ehrmantraut/Jimmy McGill | Saul Goodman
Series: bcs/brba prompt fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978066
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Where there's smoke

"Remember those photos I had you take of my brother's house?" Jimmy's voice trembles and pitches up. He squeezes his cellphone so tightly the blood drains from his knuckles.

There's a long pause on the other end of the line, and he gets the feeling Mike already knows what happened. If anyone could somehow read his thoughts, it would be Mike.

"Yes." Mike replies carefully.

Jimmy laughs bitterly. "Well, thanks. They did the job. They did _the job!"_

He laughs harder until eventually he breaks down into wheezing sobs. He imagines the pitying look that must be on Mike's face right now, and that only serves to add another helping of anger to his unstable cocktail of emotions. He chokes back his sobs and waits for Mike to say something. What the hell does he expect from him anyway?

"Where are you?" Mike asks gently, like he’s trying to avoid setting Jimmy off any further.

If Jimmy lets himself indulge, he can hear a hint of concern there.

"My office."

"On my way."

Mike is coming here now? Jimmy looks at the cheap bottle of vodka he's been drinking and shoves it back in the desk drawer. He exhales and drops down on the futon. He feels deflated, floppy, and weak. He's not sure if he'll be able to stand back up.

It feels like only a minute has passed when he hears a loud rapping. He stands on wobbly legs and peeks out into the salon. The green neon light of the signage above the door reflects off a bald head. He heads to the front and lets Mike inside.

"I've been knocking for a while." Mike grumbles and looks him over. "You been drinkin'?"

He ignores Mike's question and stumbles over to one of the salon chairs and drops into it wearily. Mike follows and hums thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry about your brother." Mike sits down in the chair beside him.

Jimmy sighs and leans back in the chair. Some stray tears roll from the corners of his eyes and back toward his ears. Something about the kindness in Mike's voice makes it harder to keep it together. His throat tightens and he bends forward to sob into his hands.

He becomes vaguely aware of warm pressure on his back and Mike’s deep voice murmuring in his ear, but he's too out of it to make sense of it all. As he cries, the blood rushing in his ears calms and his hearing slowly comes back into focus.

"...There you go. Let it out." Mike mumbles and rubs his back in a slow circle.

It occurs to him this is probably exactly what Mike does to calm his granddaughter down after a tantrum, and it's infuriating. He shakes Mike's hand away with a childish growl of frustration. Mike drops his hand and gives him a blank look.

"I didn't ask you to come here." He slurs and wipes away his tears. The alcohol he gulped down before he called Mike is starting to take affect.

"You're right." Mike says tiredly, like he’s wondering why he bothers. He gets up with a soft groan and heads for the door.

He's not certain what possesses him, but he really doesn't want Mike to go. It feels good that he cared enough to come here. He reaches Mike just as he's about to open the door and claps a hand on his shoulder.

Mike looks down at Jimmy's hand with a raised eyebrow and turns to him silently.

"Would you stay?" He needs the distraction. When he's alone, all he can think about is Chuck.

"No, I hate the chemical stink in this place." Mike wrinkles his nose. "But you can come with me… if you want."

Jimmy swallows hard against the lump in his throat. "Yeah, okay."

The drive over is silent. He watches Mike from the corner of his eye for a little while. He's so calm. Nothing on his face betrays anything about what he's thinking. Maybe the trick is he's not thinking about anything? Nah. There's gotta be things going on there, just below the surface. Still, he wishes he could be like that. He's too emotional. Too obvious in everything he says and does.

They hit a bump in the road and the sway of the car turns his stomach. He moans and leans back into the seat, taking deep breaths to try to fight off his nausea.

"You'd better not vomit in here." Mike monotones, not taking his eyes off the road. "Tell me if you need me to pull over."

"No," He replies weakly as his stomach unclenches. "m'good."

He finds himself getting tired again. The motion of the car and the passing streetlights begins to lull him to sleep.

A thick finger jabs his ribs. "Stay awake."

"Okay, okay." He stammers. "Jeez."

Not long after his unpleasant wakeup call, Mike pulls to the curb in front of a bungalow. Mike comes around and opens the door for him. He tries to pull himself up out of the car, but the alcohol really seems to be hitting now. He gets the spins and falls forward into Mike. Strong arms loop around his middle and keep him upright. He closes his eyes against Mike’s shoulder and groans.

"Alright, I gotcha." Mike's voice rumbles in his ear. Somewhere in his stupor, he wonders why Mike's being so nice.

Mike turns and guides him toward the unassuming house. It's not what he expected, but then again, he's never given all that much thought to where Mike lives. He supposes he always thought of him living in dark cave, or maybe under a bridge, like a troll. He giggles drunkenly to himself and Mike gives him a sideways glare.

"Lean on me here a second."

Jimmy does, and Mike pulls keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. Mike links their arms and hauls him inside.

"Lean back on the wall here so I can get your shoes off."

He scoffs. "I can take off my own shoes."

Mike rolls his eyes. "I doubt that. Shut up and lean."

He does as he's told and Mike squats down to slip his shoes off, glancing up at him for a second. Mike has nice blue eyes. Really blue. He looks good down there. That's gotta be the vodka talking, right?

"C'mon." Mike grunts and helps him over to the couch. "Lay down here."

He flops back into the couch. It's a little small but not too bad. He watches Mike leave. He should hate this really, being taken care of like a baby, but it's kinda… nice? He smiles dopily and closes his eyes.

Mike returns with a glass of water and hands it to him carefully. He clumsily props himself up on his elbow and accepts the glass. Mike stands with his hands on his hips and waits patiently while Jimmy gulps the water down.

"More?"

Jimmy nods, "I can get it myself."

Mike shakes his head and takes the empty glass from him. "Don't worry about it."

Jimmy drinks the second glass more slowly. He finishes about half before setting it down on the coffee table.

"It's late." Mike closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. "You alright there?"

He struggles to focus on Mike through bleary eyes.

"I can stay?"

"Yep." Mike says with a nod. "Bathroom's at the end of the hall."

Jimmy smiles crookedly and tries to unbutton his shirt, but the buttons keep slipping out from between his fingers. He realizes Mike is still there, watching with a hint of a grin on his face.

"You staying for the show?" Jimmy asks, half serious. Jesus, he's gonna get a fist to the face soon if he keeps this up.

To his surprise, Mike chuckles good-naturedly. "Need help?"

Jimmy mouths but no sound comes out, so he nods. Mike's gonna help him undress? He's surprisingly okay with it.

"I'd make you stand but I'm not sure if you can." Mike steps closer and kneels with a grunt. "Sit up and turn to me."

He sits up and does as he's told, planting his feet on the floor. The room tilts, and he grabs hold of Mike's shoulders to steady himself. Mike pulls himself a little closer until he’s between Jimmy’s knees. He reaches up to Jimmy's chest and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Jimmy watches him closely.

"Anyone ever tell you," He slurs, "you got nice eyes?"

Mike exhales and shakes his head with a smirk.

"You're a real friendly drunk, aren't you?" Mike laughs softly and methodically works down the row of buttons.

He runs his hands over Mike's biceps.

"Strong, too. I like your arms." He says shyly.

Mike grins a little, then scoffs. "Sounds like you're wearing beer goggles."

Mike pulls Jimmy's shirt back off his shoulders and leans in to work it down over his arms. He's so close now. If Mike turns his head a little, he could kiss him. Maybe calling Mike tonight was a bad idea.

Mike half-heartedly folds the shirt and drops it on the coffee table.

"You okay with the rest?"

He smirks. He knows he's going to regret this at some point.

"No." Jimmy says and leans back into the couch cushions. "Not okay."

Mike raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

Jimmy nods sleepily.

Mike lets out a resigned exhale and quickly unbuttons and unzips him, before yanking his pants off unceremoniously and dumping them on the coffee table on top of Jimmy’s shirt. Not nearly as romantic as the shirt unbuttoning was. Jimmy sighs dejectedly.

"G'night." Mike grunts. He turns on a small lamp beside the couch and turns out the other lights as he leaves.

A door closes and he hears running water. Suddenly he really needs to pee. He makes his way down the hall and waits outside the bathroom door for Mike to finish. When the door finally opens, Mike flicks off the light and turns toward the dim hall. Mike jumps a little and immediately grabs Jimmy, slamming him back into the wall.

"What the fuck?" Jimmy chokes out against Mike’s forearm over his throat. He can't make out Mike's expression.

Mike releases him and steps back.

"Why were you waiting out here in the dark?" Mike growls. "You couldn't knock?"

Jimmy catches his breath. "Sorry, I didn't think…" He searches for the right word. "Didn't think I would scare you."

"You didn’t scare me… you surprised me." Mike breathes hard and wipes his hands on his shirt. "Not a great idea to do that."

Before Jimmy can say anything more, Mike leaves him and heads to his bedroom. Jimmy hums under his breath and goes in to use the toilet.

When he finishes up and turns out the light, he walks with his hand out against the wall to steady himself. There's no light coming from beneath Mike's bedroom door. He feels bad for scaring Mike. Surprising him. Whatever. Why did he have such a strong reaction anyway? He's never known Mike to startle easily before.

Before he can stop himself, he clumsily crosses the hall and turns the doorknob slowly, opening the door a crack.

"Mike…" Jimmy whispers into the darkness, "Mike, are you awake?"

"What now?" Mike grunts.

"Mike, I'm sorry I scared you."

There's a moment of silence and Mike lets out a tired sigh.

"I know. Go to the couch now. Get some sleep."

He thinks about the couch. He's had worse but he's also had better.

"I'm too tall for your couch. Plus, I got bad knees."

Jimmy opens the door a little wider and Mike flicks on his bedside lamp and regards him grumpily.

"Absolutely not." Mike says sternly. "If the couch isn't good enough, I'll call a cab and you can go home."

Drunkenness dulls his self-preservation instinct, and he steps in and closes the door behind him. He staggers over to the bed and starts crawling into it. Miraculously, Mike gives him an irritated huff instead of a fist to the face.

"You're probably too drunk to be left alone anyways." Mike admits gruffly. "But you'd better not wake me unless it's an emergency."

Mike leaves the room and returns quickly with a small trashcan, which he plunks down on the nightstand beside Jimmy. Mike turns him on his side and stuffs a pillow behind him.

"In case you get sick." Mike explains when Jimmy looks up at him in confusion.

Mike slips back under the covers and switches off the lamp, muttering something about 'babysitting' as he gets situated.

Jimmy pulls the covers up to his chin and stretches his legs with a satisfied groan. He's so tired and yet his brain won't stop racing. He's close enough to feel the heat coming off Mike's body. A queen bed doesn't leave all that much room for two grown men.

"Thanks for letting me stay." Jimmy says sweetly.

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you." Mike grumbles as he stifles a yawn.

Jimmy laughs louder than he means to at that. He's not sure why he's laughing. It probably wasn't a joke.

"How 'bout you lemme pay you back?" He asks, smiling slyly to himself in the darkness. 

"You don't know what you're saying." Mike admonishes and rolls over with a groan. "You're drunk. Go to sleep."

Mike sounds almost disappointed to turn him down. He debates with himself about trying something with Mike. Maybe he could touch him gently, just to see what happens? He must not have had quite enough liquid courage though. He can't bring himself to try. Eventually his eyelids grow heavy, and he drops off listening to Mike's steady breathing.

* * *

When he wakes up, the faintest bit of daylight is streaming around the edge of the blinds. There's a heaviness on his right side. Shit. It's Mike.

Mike's arm is slung across his chest, his head resting on Jimmy’s shoulder. His breathing in Jimmy's ear is deep and slow. He tries to shift away, but Mike's leg is hooked over his thigh, trapping him in place.

He lets out a shaky breath and looks up at the ceiling. Mike groans softly and holds him tighter, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Should he wake him up? Surely Mike would never do this if he were awake. It would be so nice if this kept going though. Jesus, is he still drunk?

He grasps Mike’s arm and shakes it gently.

 _"Mike…"_ He whispers.

Mike stirs with a sharp inhale and a couple seconds pass before Jimmy feels Mike's body stiffen and he pushes away.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Apparently, Mike's voice is deeper than usual when he first wakes up.

Jimmy squirms a little. He's not drunk anymore. There's no convenient excuse as to why Mike's voice has him stirred up.

Mike sits on the edge of the bed, facing away from him.

"Sorry about that." Mike says rubbing the back of his neck, still not looking at Jimmy.

He hears that… _something_ in Mike's tone again. What's going on here? It was so nice to have Mike cuddling him. Why not try and see what happens?

"I'm not offended." Jimmy rasps. "But if we're gonna cuddle, I wanted it to be uh… intentional."

Mike shoots Jimmy a look over his shoulder.

"Are you still drunk?"

Jimmy hums. "No, don't think so."

Mike sighs up at the ceiling and shakes his head.

"Come back," Jimmy encourages, "I liked it."

Mike turns slowly to face him.

"You're serious?"

He stares down at his hands. It was nice. He felt warm and safe. It felt good.

"Yeah." He says and clears his throat nervously. Maybe he's finally crossed the line.

Mike lays back down and he takes a long look at Jimmy while chewing his lip, probably still trying to figure out if it's all a joke. Mike opens his arms reluctantly and Jimmy quickly accepts the invitation, folding his arms against his chest and tucking his head beneath Mike's chin. Mike embraces him. He presses his face against Mike’s chest. He smells good. Old Spice, sawdust maybe? Something else he can't quite place.

Mike squeezes tighter and Jimmy grunts.

"Sorry, too tight?"

"No, it's good." Jimmy replies muffled against Mike’s chest. "The tighter, the better."

Mike presses a kiss to the top of his head and ruffles his hair. His breath catches in his throat and he's surprised when tears start welling in his eyes. He nuzzles into Mike’s chest and tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. It's no use.

"Hey, hey." Mike gently cups the back of Jimmy’s head and actually shushes him, like he’s soothing a child. "You're gonna be okay."

This is fucking embarrassing. He's had a lot of lows, but this feels lower. Drunk dialing Mike and literally worming his way into bed with the guy so he could cry all over him? What is Mike to him anyways? He didn't feel like a friend before and certainly doesn't feel like one now.

He can't help it. Without any alcohol in his system to dull the pain, he can't stop thinking about it. He's the reason Chuck killed himself. Just like Dad. He let them down and now they're gone. He wanted to make them proud, but now it's too late.

He's probably soaked Mike's undershirt by now. He can't catch his breath and the room starts to spin. He knows Mike is talking from the vibration against his face, but his words are faint and disjointed.

Mike grabs Jimmy's shoulders and pushes him back. He tries to pull Mike back in, but he shifts back out of reach.

"Jimmy, focus. I'm gonna give you some space, and I need you to listen to me, okay?"

He nods with a moan and clutches his chest. His heart feels out of rhythm. He looks into Mike’s eyes and tries to listen.

"You're hyperventilating." Mike explains. "Just purse your lips, like you're blowing out a candle. Breathe in through your nose and then out through your mouth, like this."

Mike purses his lips and breathes in slowly through his nose, and exhales just as slowly through his mouth. Jimmy mimics him and struggles to draw in a deep breath.

"It's gonna pass soon, I promise."

He closes his eyes and focuses on breathing. He's able to slow his breaths gradually, and his heart slows with them. Several minutes pass before his lungs finally stop spasming. He opens his eyes and Mike’s watching him carefully.

He moans weakly and more tears escape the corners of his eyes and roll down his face. "How did you know that would work?"

Mike ignores the question and frowns. "Does this happen often?"

Jimmy debates how to answer. He probably has these feelings a couple times a month when his stress finally boils over. Though it's not usually this bad. The last time he felt this terrible was after Dad died.

"No, not that often."

Mike narrows his eyes and Jimmy can see the wheels turning. He's sniffed out his lie probably. How does he always do that?

Mike turns and looks at his nightstand.

"Guess I ran outta tissue." Mike mumbles and peels off his shirt. "Here."

Mike moves closer and wipes Jimmy’s forehead with his undershirt. It's only then he realizes how sweaty he's gotten. Mike wipes the tears from his face and down around his neck.

He can't help but look at Mike's exposed torso. He has a nice, broad chest with a good-sized patch of white hair that tapers into a trail leading to another smaller patch of hair on his belly. An even finer trail of hair continues down past the waistband of his boxers.

Mike tosses his shirt aside and Jimmy inches closer. Mike rolls his eyes a little and motions for him to come over. He nestles up to Mike's chest again. This time, his face against his bare skin. Would be nice if his own shirt weren't in the way.

He leans back and pulls off his own shirt.

"What're you doing?" Mike asks warily.

"Getting comfortable." He slips back into Mike’s embrace but not before Mike gives him a disapproving look.

"You're pushin' your luck, kid." Mike cautions and runs his hand through Jimmy's hair.

He sighs and tries to relax against Mike’s warm skin. Mike's chest hair tickles his nose, and he huffs.

"You wanna talk about it?" Mike asks, almost tenderly.

He clears his throat as it tightens again. Why is Mike being like this? Why does he care? Why is it making it harder on him?

"I'm a waste of space." The words tumble out of him, unfiltered.

Mike slides his hand down between Jimmy’s shoulder blades and rubs him there softly.

"How's that?" Mike asks calmly.

He ruins things. That's how. He fucks up and never quite gets it right. Over and over and over. He never seems to learn. He never gets better. He's slippin' Jimmy.

"Everything I touch turns to shit." He wants to stop but he's past the point of no return. "Hang around me long enough and you'll find out firsthand."

Mike rests his hand on Jimmy’s waist. "I doubt that's true."

He scoffs at that. Chuck would've begged to differ.

"You know the last thing Chuck said to me?"

Mike starts to rub his back but doesn't say anything.

He clears his throat and has a hard time getting the words out. "He said I never mattered to him."

He inhales sharply and squeezes tighter. Mike squeezes back.

"I don't know much about your brother, but I don't think he meant that."

He wants to believe that more than anything.

"I tried to make him proud, but nothing was ever good enough, not even becoming a lawyer." Jimmy laments. "And now… I'm not sure who I'm supposed to be anymore."

Mike chews the inside of his cheek and frowns.

Jesus, why is he treating the guy like his therapist? He's all full of holes, and the words are spilling out of him like water.

"You know what else?" Jimmy plows onward, filling the silence. "He killed himself."

Mike's eyebrows shoot up. Jimmy laughs bitterly.

"Ha… yeah, the obituary didn't give you that fun piece of trivia, did it?"

Mike puts his hand over Jimmy's heart. "I'm sorry."

He can tell Mike means it. For some reason he takes this as permission to unload everything. He's crossed so many lines with Mike since last night. What's a few more?

"It's my fault."

Mike watches him carefully.

"I told his insurance he was sick." He continues, unable to stop now. "So, they raised his premiums and his partner forced him to retire."

He wants Mike to berate him. Tell him to leave. Get out of his bed, out of his house. But he doesn't. He just lays there with that sad hound dog look on his face. Jimmy looks away and fidgets with his ring, trying to hold back his tears.

"I know you think you deserve it," Mike says gently, "but beating yourself up won't bring your brother back."

He flicks his eyes up at Mike and his bottom lip trembles. Mike cups Jimmy's face, the callouses on his fingers catching on stubble. Jimmy chokes on the tightness building in his throat. He wants to yell and kick things but he's so _fucking tired_. He weeps softly and pinches his eyes closed. He tries to stop, but it's no use. He turns over. He can't stand the pity on Mike's face.

"It's not your fault." Mike moves closer and puts his arm around him.

He cries for a long time. Mike doesn't say anything more, just holds him tight. He feels terrible but he likes the feeling of Mike’s solid weight against him.

Eventually, he calms down. He feels wrung out. Mike holds him close and rubs gentle circles over his stomach. He's enjoying it more than he has any right to. Mike shifts a little and presses his mouth to the back of Jimmy’s neck. Mike seems into this.

He tilts his hips back and Mike presses forward into him, grunting softly under his breath. Mike's _definitely_ interested. His mind races, he hardly knows what to do with this information.

He turns around to face Mike and is pleased to note a flush across his face. Even more interesting is the impressive bulge growing beneath his boxer shorts. Jimmy licks his lips and smiles tentatively at Mike.

"I wouldn't tell anyone." Jimmy says, barely above a whisper, eyes darting to Mike's crotch. "If you let me…"

He places his hand on Mike's belly. Mike closes his eyes and exhales.

"I'm gonna have to take a rain check on that."

Jimmy's heart drops and Mike opens his eyes again and gives Jimmy a kind look. He didn't know Mike's eyes could hold warmth like that, and he certainly never expected it to be directed at him.

"You're not thinking clearly right now." Mike says, grasping Jimmy’s hand gently and moving it off his belly.

He doesn't have the energy to protest. He can tell Mike's trying to do the right thing, but the rejection still stings.

"C'mon." Mike gets up and heads to his closet to dress. "Time for breakfast."

* * *

Sitting at Mike's table feels surreal. All of this does. He woke up being cuddled but now the walls between them seem to be back up. Well, maybe not _all_ the way up, because Mike is making breakfast for him.

He closes his eyes against the sunlight coming through the window and drops his head in his hands with a soft moan. Why does he always forget how terrible hangovers are? He never learns his lesson.

There's a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. He looks up and Mike places a glass of orange juice and a couple Tylenol in front of him.

Mike returns to the stove and scoops the scrambled eggs from the frying pan evenly over two plates.

Mike sets a plate in front of Jimmy and his own on the other side of the table. He washes down the Tylenol with orange juice and then eyes the scrambled eggs warily. He should hopefully be able to stomach this. He picks up his fork and reluctantly starts eating, trying not to put too much in his stomach too quickly. 

Mike heads to the front door and returns with the newspaper, sitting down with a noisy exhale and flipping it open. He slips his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and slides them on.

They eat silently for several minutes, the clock in the hallway loudly marking the seconds as they pass. After spending nearly 10 hours with the guy, he actually has more questions about Mike now than he did before. Funny how that works.

"I still don't understand why you came to get me." Jimmy takes a gulp of orange juice and watches Mike through the glass as he tips it up to get the last dregs.

Mike arches his eyebrow and glares at him over the top of his glasses. "You seemed like you needed help and I had nothin' better to do. Call it community service."

Jimmy snorts indignantly. "Community service? When you were a cop, did you cuddle _all_ the drunks before you locked 'em away for the night, or just the pretty ones?"

"You know," Mike drawls and slaps his paper down on the table. "Every time I help you, I'm reminded that no good deed goes unpunished."

He scoffs and looks down at his plate guiltily. It's true that he's never been very appreciative of things Mike does for him. Mike rolls his eyes and returns to his paper and scrambled eggs.

Jimmy finishes his eggs and absently pokes his toast with his fork.

"Also…" Jimmy begins quietly. Mike groans and folds down the paper again. "I was wondering how you knew about that breathing technique."

Mike regards him, stone-faced.

"None of your business. Now finish up and I'll drive you home."

Mike drops his reading glasses back in his pocket and gets up with a grunt, taking his empty plate to the sink and begins to wash it.

"Mike, do you have…" He doesn't want to say panic attacks, he hates that term. "Do you have them too?"

Mike stops scrubbing and sighs.

"Let it go." Mike replies tiredly and returns to scrubbing his plate with renewed ferocity.

Jimmy frowns at Mike's back. He was hoping that Mike would impart more sage wisdom. Some secret way to stay calm under fire that he could learn, and suddenly life wouldn't be so difficult.

He looks down at his plate. He's shredded his slice of toast apart into small pieces. He gets up and heads to the sink, giving Mike a sheepish grin as he sets his plate down. Mike shoots him a look but doesn't comment on the decimated toast.

"Alright." Mike sighs. "Let's go."

* * *

Mike pulls to the curb by the nail salon and shifts the car into park. Jimmy delays. He hasn't spoken the whole ride over here, but he feels like he has so much to say, he's not sure where to start. He looks out the window at the nail salon, bustling with activity, and then back at Mike.

"Well, thanks uh… for everything."

Mike gives him a scrutinizing look before he responds. "You're welcome. Take it easy."

He opens the door mechanically and Mike pulls away the moment he swings the door closed. He wrings his hands as he watches Mike drive away and lets out a long exhale.

He arranges his face into a winning smile and turns to walk into the salon.

"Chào các cô, ladies! Chào các cô!" He chirps and gives his landlady a little nod. "Mrs. Nguyen, looking lovely as always."

She takes in his disheveled appearance and clicks her tongue disapprovingly, muttering to herself.

He sighs when he reaches his office door and lets the smile slide off his face. He opens the door and flops down on the couch. There's a light tap at the door and Mrs. Nguyen peeks inside before opening it all the way.

"Here." She sets a cup of cucumber water on his desk.

He leans forward and grabs the cup. "Uh, thanks. Appreciate it."

He takes a gulp and looks up at her again.

"Sorry about your brother."

There's that look again that he keeps seeing on everyone's face. Pity. He clears his throat and downs the rest of the water.

"Yeah, thanks." He rasps tiredly.

She steps closer and takes the empty cup from him.

"Rest." She says, patting his shoulder kindly. "Feel better soon."

He nods and she leaves, closing the door behind her. He stacks his chairs up on his desk and unfolds the futon, flopping down onto it.

He listens to the employees chatting and falls into a deep sleep. For the first time since Chuck died, instead of a nightmare filled with flames, he dreams of a warm embrace and a deep reassuring voice murmuring in his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading 🥰 Kudos and comments appreciated.
> 
> Check out [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmallVictories/profile).


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